


Do Better

by tsuruko (orphan_account)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Basketball, Blood, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:04:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1778425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tsuruko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukishima is far too busy being pissed when he puts the pieces together and looks down to see a little drop of blood splattering against the floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Better

**Author's Note:**

> My friend and I have talked long and hard about Kuroo/Tsukki (we're probably two of the five shippers in the world) and a basketball AU happened somehow and... gosh this is so much. We're also pretty into the idea of Kuroo being into blood, and, hey, I'll take any excuse to write Kuroo/Tsukki. 
> 
> The title is my song for this ship: "Do Better" by Say Anything. Go listen and cry with me.
> 
> also little whisper gomen I've been sick and really unmotivated since the weekend. Challenge prompt fic is coming!!

The second gymnasium of Nekoma High School is split down the middle by nothing but a few rolling racks for the basketballs and a long bench—half of the room holding Karasuno High School’s practice, the other holding Nekoma’s own. Their coaches and managers sit along the expanse, facing opposite directions to watch their respective teams, though occasionally turning to one another with a quiet word or observation. Each weekend holds a practice like this: Karasuno’s players waking up early and making their way in to Tokyo by train, most of them hurriedly finishing homework on the ride or napping despite the train’s unsteadiness, then treking from the station to Nekoma’s front gates, where they linger—they’re always early, to at least half of the team’s chagrin—until Coach Naoi unlocks the gates for them and they file, sleepy-eyed, into the gym where Nekoma has already been practicing for an hour.

It’s routine, so much so that, to some of the players, they’re one big team, a happy family, but, to others, perturbed ‘oh, it’s you again’ glances are shot across the gym as if they are surprised to be seeing each other each Saturday morning, as if this wasn’t exactly what had been happening for the entire school year.

This practice, however normal it had begun, becomes one for the books surprisingly quickly.

A pass is missed on Nekoma’s side, and a rather unlucky Tsukishima Kei from Karasuno takes the basketball to his face when he leans down to fish something out of his bag. He manages to look up when someone calls “Heads up!” in time to see the ball coming directly for him. He should count himself lucky, really, that his glasses had been discarded onto the bench for a moment, but Tsukishima is far too busy being _pissed_ when he puts the pieces together and looks down to see a little drop of blood splattering against the floor.

Takeda flails in Tsukishima’s peripherals, but he pays him no mind and stands, cupping a hand under his chin while he clumsily rights his glasses on his face. Nekoma’s players gather across the bench from Tsukishima, and Karasuno behind him, all watching and waiting for him to say something, yell, demand to know who did it, but he stays quiet.

“Did it knock his brain loose?” he hears Kageyama drone from behind him. Hinata snickers.

Ukai and Takeda appear on his sides when the bleeding becomes a little more intense and Tsukishima blinks slowly. His head hurts. He doesn’t know how long he can handle standing there, bleeding on his jersey and the floor, before he’s going to stomp away.

“A-Are you okay, Tsukishima-kun?” Takeda hedges, visibly unsure of how to handle this situation. Ukai doesn’t provide much moral support for their advisor this time, simply offers to get him some pain meds from the first aid kit on the bus and slinks away. Tsukishima doesn’t know how to respond. “T-Take a break! Go get cleaned up and sit out for the n-next r-round…”

“I’ll go with him to help him clean up,” Tsukishima hears from the crowd of red and black in front of him, knows who it is before he even looks up and wants to groan. “It was my fault the ball flew over here, anyway.”

“Great!” Takeda chirps. “Thank you, Kuroo-kun! Um...”

Kuroo Tetsurou steps up from somewhere that Tsukishima had not been watching and smiles this obnoxiously devilish smile at Karasuno’s advisor, but the tone to his action goes right over Takeda’s head. They think he’s being nice. Tsukishima sighs. _What a shithead_. Kuroo nods his head toward the locker rooms and pads off in the direction of the door. Tsukishima follows. Does he really have a choice.

Once alone in the bathroom, Kuroo backs Tsukishima up against the wall and grabs his chin between his index finger and thumb, inspecting the center’s nose and the blood trickling down from his nostrils. Tsukishima wants to slap his hand away, clean himself up, but Kuroo hold his gaze while he reaches for a paper towel _and_ wets it, and Tsukishima thinks that his opposing player may be a little too dedicated to cleaning up the mess he made and lets him, despite what he, himself, wants.

Tsukishima rethinks _everything_ he had just decided upon when Kuroo smirks at him, wishes he could send a basketball or thirteen flying at Kuroo’s face in retaliation.

“It got you pretty damn good, hmm?” He wipes at the blood with a gentleness that Tsukishima had no desire to know that Kuroo possessed. The point guard watches him intently, eyes on his work, glancing up only a handful of times to make sure Tsukishima is all still there, mentally speaking. He knows too much about Kuroo, knows that he has this strange… _thing_ for blood.

With a huff, Tsukishima replies, “You like this more than you should.”

Kuroo hums quietly, his hand moving slowly from Tsukishima’s chin to his neck. The blood is mostly gone now, save for a few stray streams, and Kuroo is still smirking at him, fingers pressed almost soothingly into the skin just above his pulse.

“So do you…” Kuroo’s voice is quiet when he speaks again, but the smirk is still there. Tsukishima hates it, probably hates him. _Definitely_  hates Kuroo.

He watches as Kuroo’s tongue darts out and licks along his lips before leaning in close and pressing a kiss to Tsukishima’s upper lip, smearing what little blood remains before shifting slightly and placing kisses down to his bottom lip. Tsukishima lets out a groan he had been holding in, this one made of pleasure as opposed to annoyance, and he finds himself kissing Kuroo back, not minding the taste of warm iron lingering between them. There’s blood on their lips. He doesn’t care.

Kuroo’s hand trails up into the little tufts of hair at the base of Tsukishima’s neck and he pulls him closer, lips parting easily, greedily, when Tsukishima’s tongue nudges at him. A little sigh escapes Kuroo when Tsukishima licks along his tongue, and Tsukishima feels the older boy relax against him.

The kiss lasts longer than it should have, but Tsukishima pulls back sooner than Kuroo would have liked, and they’re both standing there breathing hard and a little bloody and Kuroo’s smirking _again_.

“What?” Tsukishima questions, jostling Kuroo out of his way and leaning down over the sink to wash his face.

Kuroo takes his place and leans against the wall. “Shame you have to clean up.” He comments. Tsukishima almost chokes in surprise, glad that he’s face-first in a sink because he’s a little more than certain that he, too, is smirking by now.

 


End file.
